Survival of the Fittest: Season 3
Survival of the Fittest: Season 3 is the third and final part of the Survival of the Fittest series. It's the first part of the franchise in over three years. Written by *Pokermask *Acethemaster135 (Chapter 2) *Toa Roden (Chapter 3) *Kopakamata97 (Chapter 1) Story Prologue It was raining in the middle of the afternoon on the island of Zakaz. A green skakdi was standing beside his cargo spaceship, awaiting someone to assist him on a mission. He had a package loaded in the back of his ship from the Order of Mata Nui. The agent who gave him this task, requested that he could use a "second hand" and to be careful it, as it may have dangerous consequences, which put him in the position he was in now. This task was of high importance to the Order of Mata Nui, which had made the decision to shut down a mysterious universe far away from Aqua Magna. Many stories had been told from different agents in the Order about how an ancient lord had started a game there. The rules were clear; fight and kill. This made the leader, Toa Helryx worried about how it could be used in the hands of the Makuta. Negotiations were made in months on how to prevent this from happening and it was agreed that there was no other way, the universe had to be destroyed. After about fifteen minutes, another skakdi arrived. His armor was coloured black and grey and he had a noticable scar on his left hand. He shook hand with his companion. "So is the vehicle ready for take off?" he asked. "Yup" the green skakdi answered. "That guy back in Artakha looked like he had gotten a nightmare or something." "I guess it was as bad as the Order has told" "No kiddin. That Maledict guy sure caused alot of disaster out there" "Not just Maledict, but the mastermind behind it all himself... Sitrius, I believe his name was" "Yeah, I heard he was a lunatic and that he died in Maledict's power. I tell ya, these games are for fools and cowards." The grey skakdi walked towards the spaceship and opened the entrance. "Shall we go then?" he asked with a assertive tone. ---- After the takeoff, the ship could finally float in the space until they had reached their destination. The two skakdi sat in their seats and kept themselves concentrated on the engines and the coordinates, so they didn't end up in wrong position. Both of them believed that the flight would last for several days, but after just a few hours, they were close to their destination. As they looked out on the side windows, they could see a round platform floating close to the planet of Bota Magna. They noticed that it had ocean and vegetation, similar to a planet and a volcano that was arguably bigger than all the mountains around it. They both began to prepare for the landing by pressing buttons and giving commands to each other. It was at this moment, another ship came floating above them. In difference to the silver colored ship that the two skakdi were flying with, this one was pitch black and had darkred lights coming from it's roof. Red lights started shining underneath it, going back and forth as if it was scanning the spacecraft under it, and then it stopped. The two skakdi didn't notice anything of this, until they heard a strange sound, as if something had teleported to the ship. It came from the luggage room at the back. The grey skakdi rose up from his seat, turned around and walked towards were the sound came from. He took slow, careful steps into the luggage room and looked around to see what it was. Then all of a sudden, something grabbed his arm and snapped it. He let out a loud yell in pain as he held his broken elbow. The mysterious figure started beating him up senselessly with hard punches all over his body. The green skakdi noticed all the noise, left his seat and ran into the luggage room. He could see that it was a Makuta that was battering his friend. He raised his fist into the air and ran towards the Makuta in an attempt to fight him off, but suddenly two other Makuta came from behind, kicked his back and threw him over his partner. As the two skakdi stopped moving, the three Makuta ran over to the driver's seat. They all looked around and threw things through different directions. One of the Makuta noticed a computer showing a map similar to a positioning system. He grabbed it and held it in his hands with a smile on his face. "Here! I found the coordinates" he yelled to his companions. "Good" one of the other Makuta yelled. "Time to remove the evidence". After those words, one of the makuta took out a small detonator, placed it on one of the seats and pressed a button in the middle of it. It started to make a beep sound. Two of the Makuta ran into the luggage room and lifted up the crate, carrying each side of it. In just a few seconds, they all teleported away from the scene. One of the skakdi heard the beep sound and lifted his head slowly. It became faster and faster until it finally blew up, destroying the entire ship in the process. ---- From the Makuta ship, they saw the spacecraft reach the atmosphere and Bota Magna and crash into it's demise. One of the Makuta took up a calling device to send a message. "My lord" he began. "We have made dispose of the enemyship and gotten the coordinates." "What is your position?" a hissing voice said from the device. "D3, my lord. Should we land or return to the base?" "Consider this as a gift, my servants. I'll let you be the first to touch the surface of this mysterious universe. Expect me to arrive in about three hours." "Copy that". The Makuta switched off the device. The ship turned it's course towards the platform and flew down to it's atmosphere, preparing for landing. ---- In an old arena, a collection of over 50 warriors were gathered, one of them being a member of the Fellowship of Justice, Coropsus. He recognized this place, every small brick that was placed on the walls, the sandy ground underneath, the sky above him. He had a worried look on his face as he realized that he was back in Sitrius' universe. On the throne sat someone that Coropsus as well as the place he was in. The being had a crown on his head and a long, black cape. This was Tazzuk looking over the warriors that stood underneath him. He rose up from his throne, raised his arms like a cross and said loudly; "Welcome, brave warriors! You are awaited." Chapter 1: Until Dawn Do We Part A stream of light passed through the air quickly, a cracking sound as it passed. “Everybody down!” yelled Mersery, diving into a puddle of mud. The puddle broke his fall somewhat softly, disregarding the hard pebbles that did hurt upon impact. The explosive rocketed through the air, landing in the soft soil recently moistened by rainfall. Vantelic was mildly injured by one small piece of shrapnel from the explosive. It managed to brisk past his left thigh while he was jumping. “We clear?” asked Deltron, lifting his face up briefly. “Stay down!” replied Mersery. “We still don’t know who’s attacking.” “Mersery…we gotta get out of here! We’ll be pummeled by shrapnel! It’s now or never!” The games were deadly ones. Only warriors with the greatest skill survived them. In the early stages of the fight, some would band together to better their chances of survival. That was exactly what Mersery had intended when he joined the small group. Ten members – which had been reduced to nine after an unfortunate incident involving an accidental weapon detonation – had set out in order to try and eliminate some of the other warriors in the arena. The team consisted of Mersery, Vantelic, Deltron, Zektox, Valkyr, Kolhie, Pyranos, Heran, and Sanya. Raising his index finger and pressing it near his mouth, Valkyr gestured for everyone to be quite. They gradually got up and sprinted into the forest. Quickly scampering over the rugged terrain, Zektox tripped over a half-rotted log that camouflaged with the rest of the rich floor of the area. Valkyr then signaled the others to run on without him, staying back to help Zektox. However, the tripped warrior quickly disintegrated into Protodites. Rustling came from the bushes, suggesting an enemy was stalking them. “C’mon, Zektox! Let’s go!” called Valkyr, his tone changing from worried to deeply concerned. The two ran as fast as they could, all the while, Valkyr was working with his energy crossbow. For a split second, he turned back, only to see his pursuer, Eritko. He took a shot at his knee, knocking him to the ground. It was then that all of the sounds of pursuing stopped. Eventually, the two found the rest of the team, hustled around in a beautiful pond within the forest boundaries. It was almost worthy of calling paradise, considering. Zektox returned to his organic form and sat down, voluntarily snatching a branch of berries from the hands of Vantelic. “I must thank you in advance.” he said. “The night will be a long one. Nightfall will be upon is in roughly seventy-three minutes, twenty one seconds.” Mersery replied, being the scientist of the group. Having been exposed to so many precise numbers and facts over the years, Mersery was a great asset to the team. He knew a lot about several things, and most of what he said was correct. No one knew, though, how his measurement of time was so exact, and he told no one. “Do we camp here? I’m exhausted. I’ve been fighting for five hours straight with at least a dozen enemies.” “Yes, Sanya. We can stay here. After all, I don’t think we’ll have much of a problem with attackers. Not many go out late.” “Wait a sec…that’s brilliant! We’ll go out at night to kill. Eliminate a few targets and we’ll be good to go.” “Not unless we find some night-vision device of some sort…we’d be blind men walking. Besides, tonight is not an option. Vantelic has been injured, and I wouldn’t want to risk him just yet.” “And, my shoulder is a bit swore from when I snapped that Rahi’s jaw…too much of a punch, I suppose.” commented Sanya. Valkyr sat on the sidelines cleaning his crossbow. He said nothing, which was typical of him. In most cases, he just didn’t have anything to say. He had been through a lot. “Being that I’m the least tired, I’ll go on watch for the first two hours. I expect at least one of you to watch over camp for the next two afterwards.” volunteered Heran. For a brief moment, no one volunteered. Valkyr raised his hand, not once did his eyes leave his focus on the crossbow. The bushes in the forest began to rustle, and everyone drew their weapons. Heran approached slowly, his chain whip ready to strangulate the life out of anyone who came near the camp. Out popped the head of a small prevos rabbit, its harmless body walking towards the pond to take a drink. It was only then did Valkyr’s eye leave his focus on cleaning. He aimed the crossbow at the rabbit and released an arrow. It went limp. “We’ve got dinner.” --- Eritko sat angrily on a rock almost ten bio away from the forest lines. Examining his knee, he looked over the blood-covered wound. “How am I gonna survive with this…” he thought to himself angrily. “That can’t possibly heal in the time I need it to…” When he got up, he could hardly put weight on the joint. He had rigged up one of his spears as a cane, which helped only a small amount. Being a loner in the fight, he had no one to go to for help. The walk was a quite, lonesome one that consisted of muttering curses under his breath and the idea of suicide satisfying him. It was a thought he had been encountering often for the past hour. A blade to the heart, he thought, was much less agonizing than whatever kind of death he would face in the arena. Off in the distance, he spotted someone walking. It was too dark to make out if it was aware of Eritko’s presence or not. It would be hard to fight with an injured knee, thought the warrior. He pulled out a flare and ignited it, soon realizing that the warrior in front of him was someone he knew very well… “Ahh….Eritko, we meet again.” said the figure in front of him. --- The next morning, daylight broke the horizon line. The warriors awoke slowly, each feeling well rested. Deltron stretched his arms, yawning, and looked over at Sanya, who had taken over the final two hours of watch duty. “You look rested, Sanya.” he commented. “I am…I actually fell asleep on duty. Thankfully we’re safe.” “Yeah…thankfully.” Mersery got up and looked at Vantelic’s leg. It seemed well, and the wound seemed to have taken to the healing patch that he had applied before falling asleep. “Where’s Heran?” asked Deltron. “I’m…I’m not sure, now that you mention it. Probably out in the woods urinating again…” Valkyr got up, his crossbow and hand knife ready, and went into the forest. Footprints in an odd shape led towards the middle of the forest. They didn’t match Heran’s. “Oh no…” Valkyr blurted. In front of him was a spike made out of medal. On the tip was the decapitated head of Heran, mounted for all to see. Whatever had happened, it was deliberately set up for the team to see. Chapter 2: Sorry in Advance Written by Acethemaster135 Valkyr looked over the group of eight, most of whom were still unsettled by the previous night, and dawn's, events. They had been a team of ten, but now, with two deaths, one an accident and one a murder, the team of highly-trained warriors were down to just eight. Compared with the thrity-eight others, by Mersery 's calculations, this was going to be a long fight. Vezon walked down the forest path, still very annoyed at the results of the last battle to the death. He had been forced to leave his 'comrades' due to some unfortunate circumstances.... Unfortunate for them. Now, he had decided he might as well kill them. After all, who would stop him? It was ''a fight to the death, after all. To Karzahni's grave with honor and courage, he would slit those 'peacekeeping' wretches in their sleep. Content with his plan, Vezon never saw a cloaked figure walk up behind him. "Well, well, if it isn't my old pal Vezon!" A somewhat familiar voice whispered in Vezon's ear. "Py-Pyroketox? What a...erm... Pleasent surprise!" Vezon replied, now quivering with fear. "Yes, now, if I may, a question: why did you leave us that day?" "Uhm, well.... You see.... I..... Saw a matter....of grave importance! Yes, yes, that's it. A matter of grave importance." Vezon answered, now mentally kicking himself for stumbling with his words like that. If he did it again, he might.... Vezon's thoughts were cut off by his own screams a Pyroketox twisted a dagger through his abdomen. "You wretch, you left us for your own cowardly reasons! I hope Mata Nui can find some sympathy for you, 'cause I can't in a million years!" Pyroketox yelled, repeatedly stabbing Vezon as the birds in the trees flew off due to the pitch of Vezon's pitiful cries. "Please....Show a little....mercy...... Be the better...." Vezon's words faded as his heartstone dimmed, and finally passed on into whatever other plane of existence Mata Nui decided to deposit him in. Pyroketox walked away, now that he had finally put to rest the souls of those Vezon had killed, and searched for some allies in this battle royale that would surely ensue. Deltron, scouting for his party, yelled out: "I found something!" Valkyr, acting as active leader of the group, pushed forward. What he saw surprised him. It was a mangled corpse that might have at one point been a Skakdi, but in it's present state, it could just as well be a Toa. "Does anyone know who this might be?" He voiced his concern aloud to his company of warriors. "I do." The voice came from the dense forest where, now that he looked harder, Valkyr could barely make out a cloaked figure. "And who might you be?" Valkyr said hesitantly. "My name isn't what your question was, was it? I'll tell you anyway. My name, if it even matters to you, is Pyroketox. His name," Pyroketox siad, gesturing towards the mangled body, "Is Vezon. I killed him for what happened last time." "Last time?" Deltron spoke up from the crowd. "Let me guess. He's new here?" Pyroketox asked pointedly at Valkyr. "I guess you could say that." Deltron said, ignoring the direction of Pyroketox's comment. "Well, seeing as I have some experience, would I be able to join your little group?" Pyroketox asked. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt." This caused choruses of "He's a murderer!" and "Are you insane?" to break out. "CALM DOWN!" Yelled Valkyr. This caused the yelling to die down, and Valkyr was able to speak without yelling: "Now, we need to make camp again. Tonight, I want us to get started early, because we need to prepare better. Five of you, get to work building an enclosed area with local materials. The rest of you, with me and Pyroketox. We're going to scavenge for some wood. I have a plan." ''3 Hours Later Selexa had been watching through the scope of her high-powered sniper rifle, ready to defend the camp at a moments notice. None of the warriors knew she was there, but she knew she had to protect them. She was going to approach them today, but with Pyroketox showing up, they would think something was amiss. So, she had decided to confront Deltron and his party tomorrow, and for now defend them from her perch in a tree. As she swept her sniper around for a better look, she saw a being creeping in through a back pathway that no one had noticed. "Design flaw." she muttered to herself. Selexa did a quick head count, and, with some quick calculations, figured that this new arrival wasn't part of the ground. She zoomed in her rifle's magnification, and took the shot. the silenced bullet tore through the being's armor like it was nothing. "Arrgh!" The being's scream could be heard from all the way in Selexa's tree, and so the entire camp rushed to investigate. Knowing her work was almost complete, she worked her way down the mountain, ready to introduce herself. With Valkyr Valkyr saw a female toa headed toward the site of the intruding being's current prison, and noticed she was carrying a sniper. "She must be the one who took the shot at the intruder!" His current second-in-command, Pyroketox, said. "Yes, I agree, let's speak with her." Valkyr conceded. The pair made it about halfway to the sniper's position before she drew a handgun, muttered "Sorry in advance.", and let off a round to the intruder's head in one fluid motion. "Another dead for a worthless cause." Valkyr sighed,and continued walking. Chapter 3: Steel Hydra Sometimes, it all comes down to the cold equation. The Ta-Matoran walked alone in the forest, walked with purpose and with hope and without an ally to his name, and he was not afraid. Sometimes, it all comes down to the bitter truth. The Ta-Matoran whistled softly beneath his breath, echoed the birds of the thickets and the crickets of the grass, and he was not afraid. Sometimes, it all comes down to the simple answer. The Ta-Matoran was about to die, and because he wanted very much to live, he walked. He walked straight and forwards, head high, shoulders set, and his step was ever as steady and firm as it had ever been, back in the days when life was a pleasure and every morning a bright new dawn. Sometimes, it all comes down to a final verdict. The Ta-Matoran was walking. He was walking to the end of the land, of the nightmare's arena, to the edge of the earth, and in walking was the hope of life, but in his heart, he knew. Knew that every step might be his last, knew that every careful breath might close upon a black’ning world, and he was not afraid. For sometimes, it all comes down. And only the heart is left to stand. And in his heart, he purposed but a little. A very little. That when he died, he would die with dignity, and he would face it as he had faced its sweet fair sister, life. That when it came, they would meet as friends and depart as equals, walking ever onwards to the infinite rim, together. And he was not afraid. * * * In the shadows moved the six. They, too, moved with purpose and without fear... for in silicon is no emotion, and in gear and circuit lurk no false-formed shades. They moved together, as one, for they were one... a single mind unto themselves, and themselves unto a single mind. They were the Prototypes of the Baterra. Six in number, six in strength, a solid six-fold front against the world. They were the forerunners of the silent death, chaotic and unstable and untamed. They were the black squadron, the outcast hunters, the independents. Fast. Ruthless. Deadly. They were born to battle, built to kill. No more, no less. They walked noiseless through the shrouding darkness of the dense pine forest, keeping to cover, each moving alone and separate, but united by the wireless link, the common central network, that held them to their purpose. As of yet, they had moved alone. The arena might have been utterly waste, utterly barren of intelligent life for all they had seen and heard since the game began. There had been nothing, no wandering variable, no breath or cough or muffled footstep to suggest a target's presence; no cracking brush or splintered stone to tell a tale of titan’s long patrol. They moved slowly amidst the thickets, amidst the grasses, the cool fresh dew of the second morning glistening with life upon the dappled dullness of metallic flesh and steely hide, upon the unyielding talons of untiring feet and the smooth impassive faceplates, cold and dead and yet alert as any warmblood. Their world was complex, an endless flowing steam of data and judgment and swift calculation. All that they had seen, they remembered; every tree, every boulder, every nook and crevice... they knew. Every hill, every ridgeline, every hoof-carved trail that traced its path amidst the ferns, they knew. For every threat, a thousand different routes of evasion; for every object, a thousand different codes of deliberation; for every life form, a thousand different methods of termination. Their world was simple, precise, and ordered. Their motives were simple; their goals, concrete. They were born to battle, built to kill. No more, no less. They stalked and they struck and they won. It was their purpose. Elimination of armed and warlike intelligent life, was their driving creed... self-preservation, by direct creed extension, was a pillar of their core. The creed took strength to fulfill, much strength; strength lay in caution and in skill and in simple sheer survival. 'Survival of the Fittest', the game was called, and the simple phrase was a simple challenge and a simple objective. And without hesitation, without philosophy or regret or conscience, the Baterra set forth upon their private guerrilla war... for the war was their world, and their world was war. They knew the odds, calculated coldly in a single networked mind, and from a database as immense and thorough as those of the Great Beings themselves, they drew their strategy. They would eliminate the weak, stockpile their resources, and learn what they could of the arena and its ways. They would watch and search and listen, and they would wait. They were six together; the others walked alone. They were six as one; the short-lived alliances of the others were fraught with treachery and fear. They six were impervious to time and want and hunger; the others would weaken and fall as days wore on. Some of the six, no doubt, would meet their end by blade or fist or bludgeon. But the others would carry on, and if ever a chance hung golden in the hours, they would sink their claws within it and succeed. This was not a game of mortal love and foolish care and deluded compassion. It was a game of ruthless efficiency, raw power, and the drive to win. They had time... all the time in the world. Even together, they were not a match for many of those who lurked in the arena’s jungle depths... but they could wait. Let the strong slay strong, let the Baterra slay the weak, and in the end, they six alone would remain as victors. They were the killing machines, the silent death. The Baterra, the Prototypes. And they would kill... beginning now. * * * "I am Inrye," said the Ta-Matoran aloud, calmly, "and I am a good person, and I deserve to live." He walked on, and the shadowed forest held no answer. * * * Unit 6 was the first to pick up the track. A single footprint, square-cut and distinct in the damp earth of the forest floor. Matoran. Moving fast; gait is steady and focused, but indicates slight anxiety. Probable gender; male. Weight is average. Bears no sign of recent injury or ill health. Track is fresh; possibly dating to within last fifteen minutes. Unit 6 looked, and even as it looked and deliberated, it was transmitting the visual abroad on a short-wave private network, and Units 5 and 4 picked up the signal, looked and deliberated, and passed it on to Units 3 and 2, who in turn passed in on to Unit 1, who was then slowly and meticulously scaling a sheer limestone outcropping over a full five miles north and eastwards of the original discovery site. Plausible target? Y/N The collective decision was made in milliseconds, and before Unit 6 had ever so much as finished its single original examination of the mark, the death warrant of a Ta-Matoran was signed and sealed as surely as the fluxing tide. Confirmation pending... 2; Y... 4; Y... 3; Y... connection lost; re-transmitting... 5; Y... 6; Y... target affirmative. Unit-specific stalking sequence initiated. Proceed as necessary. Without hesitation, promptly and deliberately, the lone noiseless hunter swung hard about and followed fast and deadly on the trail. Its internal algorithms and memory banks returned a tentative negative when prompted for the necessity of stealth, and the tentative automatically defaulted to positive. Matoran were small, slight of build, and weak... but Matoran could be equipped with any of three thousand and twelve distinct types of dangerous weaponry, and the game was not kind to the fools and the careless. When in doubt, keep quiet. When still in doubt, call for backup. 6; requesting reinforcements. 4/5; respond. * * * The Ta-Matoran tramped briskly up the rolling flanks of a grassy knoll, hot sunlight beating on his shoulders he moved from the timber's shade to the hillside's open. At the summit, he paused beneath the branches of a gnarled oak to catch his breath, gazing out upon the peaceful forest that stretched endlessly on every hand against the far blue horizon, broken only by stony ridgelines and wind-swept crags. It was a good and majestic land, its rugged beauty marred not a whit by the blood of dozens upon dozens of hopeless fighters, gladiators by the will of another, tortured slaves in all but name, who had battled and died and spilt their blood upon its wild earth. These woods had echoed to the cries of the fallen, to the screams of agony, and the roots of these woods had lapped the rotting proteins of their broken corpses. He shuddered, fighting down an abrupt surge of nausea. His hands clenched, twitching with terrible lucid shock, and then loosened and relaxed as he reached for his disk launcher and swung it free of its backpack scabbard. He held it tight, worked the action, carefully flicked a stray spat of mud from the firing mechanism. His quick sober gaze, honed to perfection by countless happy hours of rummaging through scrapyards and salvage lots, slid smoothly over the well-used, faithful firearm and found no weakness. And that was well, for it was his only weapon, his only chance against the military-grade equipment and devastating special abilities of his foes... of his predators. Even now, they might be coming. Even now, his lifespan might be numbered in the seconds, his pulsing heartbeats in the single digits. He was not afraid, merely tired. He knew he would die, knew he would not survive this... 'game', this nightmarish saga of torturous cruelty. The odds against him were simply too great; his enemies, simply too numerous and powerful. He was not a woodsman, not a survivalist. He was in fine physical condition, and he was a skilled long-distance runner, and he was not a coward... but these things were nothing, nothing at all. All he was now, all that he perhaps had ever been, was a dead man walking. * * * Only thirty yards northeast of the hapless villager, Baterra Prototype Unit 6 crouched noiseless in the shadows at the edge of the sun, dark dappled armor blending as smoke-haze with the brush. Visual contact established; termination sequence initiated. Ta-Matoran; male; powerless(?) Great Akaku w/eyepiece. Armament positive... standard Metru Nui disk launcher; loaded; nature of load, unknown. A millisecond passed. Unit 5, circling into position from the westwards, responded with a terse confirmation and coordinate update, truly mechanical in its flat precision. Data registered. Three hundred yards to visual contact... two ninety-eight... two ninety-six... Initiate decoy termination sequence thirty-five? Y/N Unit 6 sent back the reply, simultaneously registering and analyzing a second incoming transmission from Unit 4, approaching at slow speed from the south. Initiate decoy termination sequence thirty-five; Y. 4; initiate idle sequence three. The dragnet was closing. Matoran Inrye had seconds to live, perhaps a minute... perhaps two, if he was lucky. Very lucky, indeed. Re-calculating... Initiate idle sequence three; confirmed. Initiating idle sequence three. Unit 4 slowed to a halt, fading with eerily life-like dexterity into the nearby cover of dense juniper foliage, still tracking the action via live sensory data stream. Units 5 and 6 were the kill squad, Unit 4 was the ace in the hole. The backup. The insurance policy against failure. Calculated odds of successful target termination... 99.931%. * * * He leaned against a gnarled scrub oak, feeling its weathered strength against his back. The sun was warm here; the breeze was fresh and soft against his mask; for an instant he closed his eyes and tried to forget. When he opened them again, there was lone humanoid standing only yards away. His heart stopped, wavered... then jolted back into an anxious-but-steady slamming rhythm against his ribcage as he realized the armored figure’s face was turned away from his own, and as of yet, he had not been seen. Bohrok... No, that wasn’t it. The... thing... was robotic, that much was evident, and there was much about it that was reminiscent of the insectiod ravagers he had seen and feared and battled in years past on the island of Mata Nui, but it was not a Bohrok. The limbs were too long, too lean; the posture, infinitely nimbler and more agile. The head structure was the wrong shape; its wrist-mounted retractable blades were plainly designed to kill rather than destroy; its every subtle movement spoke of speed and grace rather than blunt efficiency. He watched it, hardly daring to breathe. After a long moment, the... thing... stepped forward and began ambling slowly, ever so slowly, onwards towards the forest to the west. Away from him. He was looking at its back... it couldn’t see him. It hadn’t seen him. A sudden thought crossed his mind, a hopeful burst of inspiration. The thing was a construct, a lifeless automaton... an intelligent being, he doubted he could have found the courage to slay; but this... thing... It was oblivious to his presence; it wasn’t far away; it would be an easy shot if he could just get a bit closer... The single Kanoka in his launcher was a Disk of Shrinking. One solid hit, and the thing would become just the right size for a quick stomp and a grinding twist of the heel. He could smash it underfoot, he could… He, Inrye, could make a kill. A real, true, fair-and-square kill. He didn't hesitate. The thing was moving away; it was at the trees now, sliding easily into the shadowed foliage. Raising his weapon, he padded noiselessly in pursuit. He crossed the clearing. He, too, was in the trees now, and he felt the cool dimness as he stepped into cover. The thing was there, still facing away from him, still moving slowly… tantalizingly slowly. Twenty feet away, right in the middle of an open patch of muddied ground, it halted and stood, head turning slightly from one side to another as it presumably surveyed the woodlands before it. It was a perfect target. At this range, there was no way he could miss. He brought the aged disk launcher to his eye, squinted through the plain open sights, drew a careful bead on the thing’s dappled metallic back. Six inches below the shoulder blades, straight through the center of the backbone, or whatever mechanical equivalent of a backbone the thing possessed. A perfect target. His finger tightened on the firing mechanism... and then he hesitated. A perfect target. Too perfect. Was this a setup? It was his last thought. Baterra Prototype Unit 6 exploded silently from the brush behind him, cold robotic eyes glowing blue behind the metallic faceplate as it wrapped its left forearm around his neck in a single coordinated millisecond of lethal blurring action, clamped down hard with unyielding iron fingers on his skull, snapped his spinal cord clean asunder at the second vertebra with a precise and brutal jerk of steel-geared muscle. Unit 6 stepped back, let the body fall. Unit 5 turned and visually confirmed what its sensitive wide-range ultrasonic sensors had already noted, calmly registered a successful termination in its data banks, calmly transmitted the status update to its networked compatriots. The Ta-Matoran was dead before he hit the ground. * * * The Baterra Prototypes collected the disk launcher and moved on. Ruthlessly, efficiently, without emotion. They felt no remorse, no pity, nothing at all. They looked once upon the sprawled-out corpse, the broken shell that had once housed an innocent and happy soul, and they recognized death in the glazing eyes and they did not look again. They were born to battle, built to kill. No more, no less. Campaign sequence termination log... refreshing. Variable total current: 1. Chapter 4: Survivor Chapter 5: Simple Things Chapter 6: The King of Death Chapter 7: Fight for Survival Chapter 8: The King of Life Chapter 9: In the Depths of the Forest Chapter 10: Broken Spirit Chapter 11: All the Good Things... Chapter 12: ...Must Come to an End Chapter 13: Fear Chapter 14: No Hope Chapter 15: Death in the Family Chapter 16: The Madness of Fun Chapter 17: All Good That Remains Chapter 18: World in Chaos Chapter 19: Jailbreak Chapter 20: Resistance Chapter 21: Tazzuk's Plan (Part 1 of 2) Chapter 22: Tazzuk's Plan (Part 2 of 2) Chapter 23: Finale (Part 1 of 3) Chapter 24: Finale (Part 2 of 3) Chapter 25: Finale (Part 3 of 3) Epilogue Category:Survival of the Fittest